Just because I can't get drunk
by Barbayat
Summary: When Steve Rogers overhears on that the news that Tony Stark has been killed in an attack on his beach home, he really wishes he could get drunk ...


_A/N: My first time trying my hand on writing Steve or Stony for a Secret Santa story for Lady Slithering._

_While this is technically a spoiler for Iron Man 3, I don't think it quite counts as we all know that Tony would survive that one. Since it is from Steve's point of view during the movie, it's slightly angsty and deals with character death._

**Just because I can't get drunk!**

Steve was not even sure in what little southern town he had currently crashed. Now he was back and still somewhat anonymous but also clueless about this modern age. Going on a tour of the country was a good way to accomplish that. It was also a much needed experience; to find that good people were everywhere. Despite the outrageous things the politicians had been doing to make the country unpopular, the people themselves were still good at the core and that had raised his spirits.

With his bike in need of repair, he decided to spend the late afternoon and possible evening in this charming little bar, billiard balls clicking in the back, some music he had never heard before playing - and not from a juke box either. To not raise suspicion he had ordered a whiskey, it did not even taste that bad, but it wasn't doing much else either. There was something missing but Steve was not sure what that might be.

People seemed to talk far less to each others, that was one of the things he did not like about this day and age. There were actually two people texting, two other phoning and despite the music, the television behind the bartender was also running. It was too much distraction and not enough human connection.

At first he did not even paid attention when the news came on: It was the words "shocking attack", that made him look up and listen. Those words could not be more accurate: The blond anchor spoke about an attack on Tony Stark's home in Malibu. Reporting that Iron Man was dead.

Steve couldn't believe it. That couldn't be true, but when he asked the bartender to switch channels, they reported the same. While he had never seen the home as it was before it had been blown up, seeing the ruin was devastating, but it was not any man they talked about. It was the man who built a suit to withstand being blasted into space, shredded by a huge hovercraft rotor and flying through an alien space attack cyber monster. Iron Man could not just be blown up like that.

He went out in the back, where nobody could hear him, and called S.H.I.E.L.D. asking what was going on, if the billionaire had gone undercover, but they were all in shock. They confirmed Tony had been home, that they presumed he was dead. That there was nothing he, Captain America, could do at the moment. They were sorting the situation out and they would inform him if he could assist at all.

That alone made him angry; S.H.I.E.L.D. could be so impersonal, dealing in facts in a dispassionate way. Tony Stark had not only saved New York, in doing so, he had also saved the boneheaded morons behind S.H.I.E.L.D. who thought blowing up the city with a nuclear bomb was the way to go.

Steve had never gotten around to apologize to Tony for the things he had thrown in his face. He had meant to. At first, he had not understood why what Tony had done in that moment had affected him so much, had made him see the man in a different light. It had been through talking to Natasha, who had a way of getting people to reveal their thoughts to her, that he had gained some perspective.

There he was, transformed into a paragon of health, and yet he was stuck in the mindset that all he was good for was saving lives by sacrificing his own. For years, while he grew up sickly and asthmatic without a family, that was the only thing that seemed to give his life meaning. Natasha pointed out quite eloquently, that Tony had everything to live for; he had friends, a gorgeous girlfriend who had the patience of a saint, money and fame, a brilliant mind, and knew how to enjoy it all. Yet, in that moment, he had not hesitated for one second to risk his life.

That was putting Steve's words and his own actions to shame. Some measly terrorist blew up his home, finding a moment when Tony was just enjoying life and rightfully so, to end the life of the man who had saved millions of lives. It was not fair and Steve wanted to do something, he was angry, and at the same time, he felt this incredible loss.

It was not the first time either. He had lost people before: Bucky and then Peggy, two individuals that he had cared about the most. At least, they knew how much they meant to him, but with Tony he had not even admitted it to himself. It was only with him gone, that he felt how important Tony had been to him. Now, Steve would just be able to give an eulogy to state what a good friend he had considered him to be.

Somewhat between then and now he had staggered back to his place at the bar and it did not take long for the bartender to ask him if he he wanted another one. Steve emptied his glass, then nodded and emptied another one. Even though it was doing nothing, he wanted so badly to drown himself in the entire bottle and not feel anything anymore. That was not going to happen though.

"Reporter or Fan?" the bartender asked and pointed to the ongoing news story about the life of Tony Stark, put on by some leech station to boost their ratings.

"I'm from New York," Steve stated. "So of course, I'm a fan."

"In that case, the next one is on the house," the sturdy man said with a sympathetic face. They talked a bit about how unfair it was, and Steve was complimented on his ability to empty four glasses without showing any signs of inebriation. That was when Steve realised he was better off leaving this place. The last thing he needed was for someone to notice that he was in fact not even slightly affected. Someone might put it one and one together and Steve was not in the mood to be recognized.

It had happened before, people ran fansites and some of them had old pictures of his appearances and fan drawings and what not. He did not want to deal with these people so he paid his tab and walked back to his motel. He could be miserable and not drunk in his room. Tomorrow, when the mechanic had hopefully gotten the spare part to fix his motorcycle, he could take off and find out what was going on.

As he strolled down the street, a shop with blinking neon lights caught his attention. Most of the street side businesses were closed and dark at this hour; yet one remained resolutely open. It said _Sid's Tattoo and Piercing Parlor_, the second "o" on tattoo not blinking anymore. A stupid idea came to mind but he brushed it aside, because it was the kind of thing someone drunk did: get a tattoo in the spur of the moment. He was not drunk, he'd never be drunk again. In fact, he'd never really been that drunk, ever.

He walked past the store; curiously, peeking inside as he did so and noting that the store was open for a while. Steve shook his head, but after a few minutes, he turned and hurried back. Just because he was not able to get drunk, it didn't mean he could not make the stupid decisions anyway.

Steve had caught on very quickly that tattoos were far more common now, on both men and women. In his time, apart from sailors, he was not aware that anyone had them. Some obviously had put lots of thought into them. They ranged from pieces of art to drug induced experiments with crinkly lines.

Was it really such a stupid idea to let someone etch a visual reminder into his arm that showed that Steve was never going to forget his friend? That he would always honour his memory? Especially if he was doing it with a clear mind and proper care. Didn't he have a right to be upset, now that Tony had died - especially like this instead of heroically?

When the bell rang and announced his presence, a woman in her twenties wearing baggy pants and a black tank top with lace from her bra sticking out of it, walked up front. Her face looked very professionally made up, and her lips were deep dark red with a ring through the middle of the lower lip. She had tons of earrings, many of them on one side. There was a ring in her left eyebrow and a silver knob at the side of her nose. Both her arms and part of her neck was covered with black tattoos. It distracted him a moment from how tense she was, as he was staring at them. He had seen lots of people with excessive tattoos since he had gotten back but the patterns this one had chosen were almost elegant.

'Drop your old fashioned notions, Steve,' he chided himself. The tattoos were elegant, just a bit outside his own personal comfort zone. Steve was considering what size tattoo to get, when he noticed the clerk was looking at him with some apprehension - even hostility.

"Are you one of them Aryan redneck assholes?" she said from her place behind the counter, clearly holding onto something beneath it.

"No," Steve said, affronted and maybe a bit too aggressive, but that seemed to calm her down.

"Sorry, didn't mean to insult you by throwing you in with those inbred troglodytes," she said. It made him smile; he he knew those types too well. "But you don't exactly look like my usual customers. Where did you get those clothes from? The 50's store? "

"Something like that, but I'd really like a tattoo, nonetheless," Steve said, looking at her seriously as he tried to hide his grief.

"Spontaneous decision, eh?" she began. "Look, that's usually not the best way to go by it. I mean, I can explain the process to you, we can talk motives, but I really feel uncomfortable going ahead with it tonight."

Steve nodded, thinking that maybe if he got her into a conversation, he could persuade her that he needed this to happen now. Frankly, it was the woman's reluctance, her open concern and the fact that she did not just want to make a quick buck made him feel she was the right artist for the job. She cared for how he would feel about the tattoo a week or a year from now. If he could convince her, then it would be a sign that it was the right thing to do.

"As I understand it, it's a permanent thing - there are procedures to laser it away," Steve said, telling what little he knew on the subject. "By the way, my name is Steve," he added. Just because he was feeling miserable was no excuse for bad manners.

"Rachel," she said. "You're right, it can be lasered away, but never completely. There is always going to be something there to remind you. It's basically trading the tattoo for a scar."

Her comment made him wonder if the tattoo would even last, he had never really gotten around to get his unit tattoo, because when he had given up the dancing monkey career, he had jumped straight into the field action and then into the was sure he would not get a scar if he ever did get the tattoo removed, but he could not tell her that, not without telling her he was Captain America.

Rachel would probably laugh at him. It was not like he had the costume or shield to prove it. As hard as it was to shake off people who recognized him, it was just as impossible to tell others who he was when they were not expecting it.

"Normally, I'd say you've had a bad break-up and are looking to tattoo over a previous one that says something like "Lola forever" - or maybe Leonard?" she said, playing with her lip piercing and smiling at him.

"No, but I've lost a fr…" Steve paused, correcting his approach. "Someone I really admired today, someone I want to remember."

"Oh, well, that is one way to do it," Rachel said, her expression softening. "Might I ask who it was?"

"Have you heard the news today?" Steve asked, not wanting to say his name. He still could not bring himself to say that Tony Stark was dead.

"Iron Man?" Rachel obviously had seen the news. "I couldn't believe that. I so hope they get the coward who did it. I mean, my brother Sid moved to New York, he was luckily not in Manhattan, but there were rumours that someone shot an atomic bomb at the city and that Iron Man turned it around and destroyed the alien fleet with it. Whatever shit he has done in the past - that totally exonerated him in my book."

They were on the same page, for what it was worth. After her little rant, he asked her about her brother and found out he moved in the same neighbourhood he had grown up in. Steve felt he might get her on his side when the doorbell rang again, and a woman with long pink hair and stylish white dress walked into the store. She had a green snake tattooed on her arm and also a number of piercings.

Rachel smiled at her and then they hugged and kissed. "Hey, we got a first timer," she the said to the pink haired woman. "Steve, this is my wife, Lauren. Lauren, meet Steve, he's an Iron Man fan."

"Oh, damn," Lauren said, obviously having heard the news. She had a few sympathetic words as well and then they gathered around the table, talking about what kind of tattoo he had in mind. Steve asked them for pen and paper, the women watched as he drew Iron Man's mask in pencil.

"You're good," Rachel said, impressed. "Hard to believe you did not think about this before, given that you're obviously a fan."

Lauren snorted, trying to hide her soft laughter behind her palm. Rachel clearly stubbed her wife under the table, which made her pull herself together. "Sorry, but I think, we're dealing with more than a fan here. The old fashioned clothes, the fact that he is not one bit drunk but his breath smells of whiskey …"

Steve gulped; when he looked up at her, he could tell she knew.

"Oh my gosh," Rachel said. "Earlier you wanted to call him your friend. You're Captain America, that's why you seemed so familiar. I should have known when you told me where you grew up."

"Well, earlier, you mistook me for a neo-nazi," he said back, somehow aware it was too late to un-convince them.

"That was before I took a closer look, it's not that often I look at guys that closely - apart from the patch of skin I work on."

"He's not denying it," Lauren said triumphantly, then her voice fell again. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I just can't believe you came into our shop of all the places."

Steve tried to smile back. "Well, I can't believe you recognised me."

"You're pretty famous and while someone is trying to pull pictures from the net, once it's out there, it's forever," Rachel explained. "Not that Lauren is a rabid fan of you - but damn, she got a thing for that hot chick in the black leather outfit."

"She's pretty amazing," he nodded in agreement, thinking more of her combat skills than her outfit.

"So you're sure you want this tattoo?" Lauren said. "Before you go out there and find whoever did that to Iron Man?"

"That was the plan," Steve admitted.

Rachel still looked unconvinced. "I don't know, he shouldn't rush it. It's a lovely gesture, but what if he regrets it?"

"Come on, Rachel, it's Captain freaking America - if he wants a tattoo he is old enough to make that decision."

Steve was not usually the one to play the celebrity card, but he was thankful that Lauren functioned as an enthusiastic champion for his cause. She knew her wife better than anyone and so he let her run the show. He just added that given his special physique they could skip the other shots and safety procedures. He also added that the alcohol was no problem, and that he frankly feared the tattoo might even disappear.

They discussed the pros and cons, but in the end Rachel conceded. "I guess I understand your problem. Well, in your case I think we can make an exception."

"Besides, which tattoo artist can claim to be first one to work on Captain America?" Lauren smiled.

"Ah you just hope he recommends us to his Avenger buddies, the red-haired one specifically."

"I'd love to give her some piercings."

"I'll mention that to her." Steve gave her a smile. He liked the girls, they sort of helped distracting him.

The tattoo was not that large, and in the end Rachel asked him if he wanted to add colour to make it more like the red and gold design of the Iron Man suit. She did a marvellous job with the coloured sketch good on paper. Then the two got going, getting the equipment ready, sterilizing everything, washing their hands, putting on gloves and mask that made him feel he was going in for surgery. When he removed his shirt to reveal the shoulder the tattoo was supposed to end up on, Lauren was amazed that his skin was so smooth and hairless as she cleaned the area.

"What a beautiful canvas to work on," Rachel commented when it was pointed out to her.

She transferred the outline to his shoulder, while Lauren went to get some tea and coffee for him. Rachel worked very efficiently, but they had time to chat a bit. Since a lot Steve's life was classified, they just spoke about his journey through America. Otherwise, all he could have talked about was growing up in Brooklyn.

The outline was done before the coffee had gotten cold, and then she brought out a mirror and showed him her work so far. Steve had to admit she was talented.

"Well, now for the painful part," she said.

"Believe me, I've been through worse," he added.

"You know in your case, I actually believe you," she replied.

It was a weird sensation to get used to. A bit painful, but after his transformation and getting beaten up by crazy overpowered Nazis and Aliens, it was like a walk in the park compared to that. He asked the two about their problem with the redneck group they had mentioned. It was a group of fairly unpleasant individuals that had a problem with the two women being married.

He spend the majority of the time Rachel touched up the outline, finding out more about them. The idea of Americans running around with that despicable attitude had never sat right with him. Back in the day, he had not been able to do much about it - but this time around, he was determined to find a way to ensure that the two lovely women would not be bothered by them anymore.

Steve was not sure what would be the best approach, after all he was not about to set the women up for retribution, but he intended to contact Natasha about the Tony Stark situation and find out more about the Aryans. If he knew the Black Widow, she knew where to hit those guys to demoralize them for good.

"What do you think?" Rachel asked, showing him the inked mask. The shading was yet to be done, but it already looked great. "You know, if I had any doubts about you being who you are, they would be gone now. That healing factor is just amazing. There is no redness, no irritation."

"Well, it has it's upsides," Steve added, looking somewhat melancholic at the Iron Mask.

"Don't you like it?" Lauren said.

He shook his head. "I do. It's very good, it's just … I'd rather have the original back."

The conversation turned to Tony Stark. They seemed to know a lot about Tony, but Steve would also have been curious about the man who saved his brother. They chatted away as Rachel used her little machine to colour the tattoo in red and gold. It was not exactly a metallic gold, but he was sure it would look good enough.

When Rachel was done and showed him the image in the mirror it looked perfect. He could see her shaking her head with an amazed expression. "It healed as I went along."

"Nice work Rachel," Lauren said and kissed her wife on the cheek. "Mind if I take a photo - just of the tattoo?"

"Of course not," Steve said, still looking at it. "That is really close, almost like a photo."

"Well, you gave a good reference, and I've seen quite a few photos of Iron Man as well. Personally, I like the gold-red more than silver-red version."

Lauren came back and took three pictures with a digital camera. She showed them to him in the small display and demonstrated how to zoom in on the details.

"Can't thank you enough, it's really something," Steve sighed. "What do I owe you?"

Rachel laughed. "No charge. You guys saved my brother, it's an honour to do this for you."  
"Yeah, and mention us if one of your friends wants one - except maybe you know, the Hulk," Lauren began and they all had to laugh, because giving Bruce a tattoo sounded like recipe for disaster - or renovation. Then she continued - "But you know they are welcome, one tattoo and piercing free."

"I'll mention that to them," Steve told them, amused by how open and confident they were with their affection, and also the lack of jealousy when Lauren was swooning over Natasha. He took their business card and put his shirt back on. There was no need for a bandage, it did not even hurt anymore. Despite that, Rachel told about him the usual security measures - just so he knew.

He said his goodbyes and added this to his list of extremely pleasant encounters for his road trip. Walking back to this motel, Steve felt the pleasant vibes from that meeting fade away slowly. He had lost Tony, he would forever be a memory, one kept close in his heart and on his shoulder, but still just a memory.

Back in his room, he got undressed and looked for a long time at the beautiful work on his shoulder. He hoped that this would please Tony, if he was somewhere watching over them. Steve could easily imagine the snide remarks he would get from him, but he did not care. He was so done with losing people he cared about. Whoever did this would not get away with it. He reckoned it would take him a while to find those responsible, but he would. With that thought he turned off the light and lay down on the semi-comfortable bed in his room.

Steve lazily pulled the covers over him. Pressing the fabric against his naked body, the shoulder and arm with the tattoo over the blanket. He kept thinking so hard about every little encounter he had with Tony and how terribly he would miss them. Back on the helicarrier he had been so annoyed at Tony challenging him. He had looked forward to going a few rounds, he still did not fully understand why it had riled him up so much and why it still stirred something. He had learned that Tony was capable of being selfless. There was something about his attitude, this marvellous larger than life lust for life that Steve could not help but envy.

He should have taken up Tony's offer to a go a few rounds, only he should have skipped the part where he told Tony to get his suit. He was pretty sure that it would be much more fun this way. Steve would of course hold back, but he wanted to know how Tony would talk himself out of it. Just like he could not hear enough about his encounter with Loki, how with strategy and that damn mouth, he had bested the self-proclaimed god.

In the midst of those thoughts, Steve fell asleep, though it did not come easy to him - and he was used to sleeping in far less hospitable circumstances. He reckoned he would dream of Tony, just as his other lost friends and companions would occasionally slip into his dreams. Especially after he lost Bucky his friend had haunted him for a long time.

If anything Tony liked an entrance. "Hey old man."

He was at a sunny house near a cliff though he was not sure if that was how he imagined Tony's place might have looked or if he had seen pictures. Wearing sunglasses with a big drink - complete with an umbrella - in hand, Tony was enjoying the sunlight in a wooden lawn chair. Despite the dark clothes, a tight t-shirt and long comfy-looking pants, he looked utterly comfortable. The clothes illustrated very nicely that Tony might be looking lazy right now, but he was in good shape. Maybe the exercise came from his suit, which ironically sat empty on another lawn chair slumped over like a marionette that had its strings cut.

"Tony. You're okay?" Steve found himself asking, as if the news had just been a bad dream.

"Of course I'm okay, I'm virtually indestructible." He took the straw from his drink and sucked some of the liquid up. "Want one?" Tony asked.

Steve felt his mouth dry up, but it was not something a cold drink could cure. He wanted to poke Tony to make sure he was not a mirage. Despite that, he sort of knew this had to be a dream, but that made sense if you're were stuck in one.

"Then why don't you sit down?" Tony looked at him. "You're blocking the sun."

When he turned, the sun blinded him momentarily and Steve was sure it had not been there a moment ago. "It's hot," he finally said. "Aren't you a bit overdressed?"

"There is always the pool to cool off," Tony said lazily and waved in the direction of an oasis of blue that had appeared behind the lawn chair where the suit sat. "And talking about overdressed, you're wearing a leather jacket."  
Steve looked down at himself. Tony was right; he was dressed even warmer, thick brown corduroy pants, a long-sleeved shirt and the jacket on top of it. He slipped out of the jacket and Tony toasted him. "That's good, now the rest, I've got a strict no clothing policy for this pool."

That didn't seem unreasonable, plus it was really warm and uncomfortable in his clothes. So even with Tony staring, he saw no harm in skinny-dipping in this very inviting pool. The water was refreshing, pleasantly warm as if heated. Tony was a rich guy, it fit that, even on a hot day, have would have a pool that was not too cool.

Speaking of the devil, once he was in the water and turned towards Tony with his elbows propped on the edge of the pool, he saw that Tony was also getting rid of his clothes. The t-shirt went first, leaving a much clearer view of the arc reactor. It was one thing seeing it covered by fabric, but in the naked chest it looked so much pronounced. It could not be pleasant to have something huge like that permanently lodged in one's chest.

There were tiny little scars on his body; some looked old and some more recent. Even the suit could not protect him from everything; a suit that seemed to be reading his thoughts and despite being empty looked at him. Tony did not react to the metallic whirring of the head, but instead dropped his pants and underwear and strolled down into the pool via the small spiral staircase, allowing Steve to get a good and very indecent look at everything.

Swimming the short distance to join Steve, he also held onto the edge, just half a foot away from him. "Are you sure you don't want something?"

"Ehm, no, I'm good," Steve replied, feeling his cheeks flush at the rather captivating tone in Tony's voice.

Tony shrugged and snapped his fingers, getting handed another umbrella drink from his suit, that this time was surprisingly making no noise at all.

"You taught your suit to be a butler?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Tony smiled. "Remote controlled suits, my newest invention. This one can do quite a few other nifty things. Do you want to see?"

Steve was curious to see what decadent, non-military purpose Tony had thought of for his invention. He had little doubt it would be something he would disapprove of. Teaching the suit to handle drinks was probably an impressive task of motor control, but it was not like a human being could not do that.

He let go with one elbow and turned to have a better view of the suit and Tony at the same time.

"Okay," Tony said, smiling and snapped his fingers again.

The suit suddenly appeared behind him, and pinned Steve's arm to the pool edge, and when he instinctively reached with his other hand to free himself, he found his wrist caught in motion and slammed down. He half-heartedly struggled against the suit, but he was effectively pinned down. Steve felt like he should be able to break free, but it did not bother him all that much. He didn't feel threatened. Even though things were not quite as they should be, he felt calm and safe. Besides, this was just Tony showing off.

"So you trained them to - what - hold down intruders? Capture prisoners?", Steve kept the tone casual, but he was suspicious of the way Tony moved even closer.

"I can think of a lot more applications - but those you mentioned, those work, too," Tony said smiling.

"I think the suits are a bit over the top as bouncer models."

Rolling his eyes as Tony was just an inch away from his face and brushing noticeably against his side, Steve found that he was in no hurry to wiggle out of this. There was this curiosity for where Tony was going with this.

"The remote controlled suits are not quite as top notch, they break pretty easily," Tony said, shrugging. "This one is a bit sturdier though." He pointed up at the one pinning Steve down.

"I can get out of this, so unless you want me to break your sturdier model," Steve pointed out as he turned to face him, "you might want to ask it to let go."

"I think we both know why you always want me to put on that suit," Tony pointed out. "We both know that as long as I've got the suit, I've got the upper hand."

Steve felt he should say that it was only because without the suit Tony would not have the hint of a chance against him. His mad tech skills and witty mouth were nothing against Steve's raw strength. Yet, there was something about Tony that made him feel like he could never compete; it was not the money, the intelligence, the new found philanthropy: it was this hunger for life.

He had tried so hard to pretend that there was something wrong with being so selfish, but that notion had fallen flat after the New York incident. Was that why he didn't want to get out of this? Why he was not uttering one word of protest as Tony's lips claimed his? Steve felt his heart race and his cheeked flushed. He had never been good with this passionate stuff.

The first time a woman did that to him he was more shocked, and had regretted that Peggy saw it, but here, it was different. It felt right. Tony was not stopping either. He pressed himself against Steve's steely body and clasped both hands behind his neck to gain a better hold.

"Still feel like duking out a few rounds with me and my suit?" Tony teased him and this time there was no doubt in Steve's mind what he was referring to.

"You think you can last a few?" he teased him right back.

Tony smiled, instead of a verbal reply he let go with one hand, keeping his hold by slipping his arm around so his elbow was now at the base of Steve's neck. The way one hand was free hand to spontaneously twist his left nipple. He winced involuntarily.

"Stamina is not everything. It looks like I've got a lot to teach you," he said before kissing Steve again. At the same time, Tony was proving his multi-tasking abilities by letting his hand travel lower. Steve felt it running appreciatively over his abs. Then Tony gave him some air - or likely needed it himself - and asked: "Do you want me to?"

The answer to that question was a positive, resounding yes, and still Steve found it difficult to say the words. He was not sure what made this so hard. Was it the situation or the overwhelming realisation of just how open he was to this scene? All that came out was a reluctant: "Sure."

That did not get him exactly what he wanted, because Tony's hand rose higher, circling over his navel. "I don't hear the enthusiasm. Have you been out of the military for so long that you can't even muster a simple 'Yes, Sir!' for your instructor?"

Steve looked at Tony in surprise; Steve had said those words so often in situations where he had not felt nearly as enthusiastic about the particular order or circumstance. Was this really Tony or just the Tony he wanted?

"Yes, Sir!" Steve said loudly, but this time neither hiding his willingness or the fact that his breath was coming a little bit faster than usual.

"Hm, I like the sound of that."

He promptly got his reward when Tony not only kissed him, but also slipped his tongue between Steve's lips while moving his hand downwards at an agonizingly slow speed. While he had always been a doer, even when he had not had the physique to do much, Steve thoroughly enjoyed being immobile. Letting Tony dictate the speed, making him feel and enjoy every little touch.

It turned out that those hands were not just talented with constructing complicate and small machinery. He felt the fingers gently brush over his dick, which grew harder by the second until it was standing, firm and large enough that Tony could not wrap his hand around it completely.

Steve could also feel Tony's erection poke against his thigh, but when the proficient hand around his own dick began moving over his shaft, it was all he could focus on. Steve gave in, moaning against the lips still pressed against his own. Finally, Tony moved his head back and began nibbling on Steve's neck, pausing just occasionally as he teased him by demanding to know if he liked it.

"Yes, I do," Steve admitted, cheeks still burning bright red. Tony cleared his throat and paused while still keeping a firm grip on Steve's cock. It did not take a lot of soldier's instinct to figure to figure out and he added. "Yes, I do, Sir."

"That's better."

With that Tony continued his movements, while working with greater intensity on Steve's neck. He sucked so hard that Steve groaned louder. He never really had understood why they called them love bites - at least until this moment. It was a shame that with his healing factor he would not have it for long.

He wanted to feel even more. His cock ached under the skilled hand of his new teacher, that Steve began to realise that this was on purpose. Tony made it so he was hard and ready to come, but never let it get to the point where he would come.

"Tony, please," Steve could not take this anymore.

"Hmm." Tony smirked at him. "First, I want to hear you beg for it. The right way."

Steve had never begged for anything in his whole life - he did not consider his repeated enlisting attempts begging - and he was not sure what Tony expected of him. He was totally at Tony's mercy; even if he could break free, that was not what he wanted. Swallowing his pride, Steve asked again. "Please - Sir!"

Tony tilted his head from left to right and looked at him curiously, while still making sure he would not come. The smug expression on his face showed that he was expecting a bit more. Steve decided to try a more formal approach, requesting release like he would ask to speak freely to a commanding officer. That did not do the trick, but Tony certainly enjoyed it.

Pointing out that he was doing his best to comply, and that he really craved this more than he had ever wanted anything, got him the reward of the feel of teeth scraping against his neck.

Tony drew his head back. "You honestly feel you should be rewarded?"

Somehow Steve knew that saying yes was not what Tony had in mind. He clearly enjoyed being in charge of the situation, just as much as Steve liked him to be.

"Sir, that decision is clearly yours to make." Seeing how the expression on Tony's face grew more delighted, Steve upped the pleading factor. "Sir, I beg you. Let me come. I crave release from your touch."

He was not even sure how he found the words, but they clearly pleased Tony. His grip tightened just a bit as he worked his way up and down Steve's hard shaft. This time, when he got close the movements did not slow down, they got even faster. Steve came, hard and fast, eyes pressed shut as he let out a cry of satisfaction.

When he opened his eyes to look up at Tony, he was gone. Steve sat upright in his motel room bed, panting heavily, chest covered in sweat and the feeling of come surrounding his crotch and thighs. The cold hard reality hit him, and he broke down in tears. After his dream, he had to face that he had not just lost someone he considered a friend. His reluctance to own up to his admiration for Tony was because he felt that much more.

Steve would forever pay the price for not acting while there was still time, because now it was too late.


End file.
